


Distraction

by unbrokenblackbird



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Flirting, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Summaries, Tags Are Hard, Zane gets shot, a bit fluffy, because he's distracted on the job
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26972044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unbrokenblackbird/pseuds/unbrokenblackbird
Summary: Zane drops his guard at just the wrong moment.
Relationships: Amara/Zane Flynt
Comments: 12
Kudos: 25





	Distraction

**Author's Note:**

> So this little bit of fluff has been bouncing around my head for a while and (since I'm getting nowhere with Divine Retribution right now) I thought I might as well let it fly free. Plus, I've been feeling a bit bad about what I've done to Zane recently... 
> 
> Comments/criticisms/hellos are much appreciated. Hope you enjoy! :D

There was no time to explain. The red dot of the sniper's laser-sights danced across her chest and Zane reacted on instinct. Throwing himself at her, he knocked her to the side, sending them both sprawling behind a broken wall. He didn't hear a shot but he knew better than to hope the sniper had simply given up. 

"You know," Amara said conversationally, as if he hadn't just thrown her to the ground, "if you wanted me on my back, you could've asked." 

"Sniper," he replied shortly, then blinked as he realised what she'd said. Looking down at her, he raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Is that so?"

"I said you could've asked. Doesn't mean I'd say yes." She smirked at his disgruntled expression and shoved at his chest. "Get off me, idiot. We need to move." 

"Aw, I thought we were havin' a moment." He chuckled and pushed himself up onto hands and knees, giving her room to sit up. "Breakin' me heart, you are." 

"You'll get over it." She rolled to her feet, checked her gun for damage and flashed him a fierce grin. "Come on, let's go or there'll be nobody left for us to fight." 

Shaking his head with a smile, Zane got to his feet while Amara cleared the room with a volley of well-placed shots. "Got the sniper," she said over her shoulder, without pausing in her shooting. "Room's clear." 

"Right behind ya." He winked and let his gaze drop to the curve of her backside briefly before flicking back up to her face. 

Amara huffed a laugh and turned away without a reply, jogging across the body-strewn floor to the door opposite. Now that she wasn't watching him, Zane allowed himself the luxury of watching her hips sway with every graceful step. He'd had his eye on the Tiger of Partali for a while now, but until recently she'd firmly (though always politely) rebuffed every advance, no matter how charming or persuasive he was. He wasn't sure exactly when or why she'd begun to loosen up, but he definitely approved. This new flirty side to the woman was a formidable addition to her already considerable arsenal. If he wasn't careful, he might—

_Crack._

He spun, raised his rifle and fired without bothering to use the scope. There was a pained cry, then a heavy thud. 

Two _snipers? Seriously?_

He took a breath, frowning at a sudden tightness in his chest. _Finally time to lay off the smokes, boyo?_

But as he turned back to follow Amara through the door, he found his legs didn't want to move. His frown deepened and he looked down, freezing as he saw a dark stain spreading over his chest. He hadn't even felt the bullet hit, thanks to the adrenaline still pumping through his veins from the fight moments before. 

_Well, shite._

The pain hit a moment later, a delayed reaction that felt remarkably like getting kicked in the chest by a Goliath. He gasped, staggering and losing his balance. His shoulder slammed into the side of a nearby crate and he slumped against it, the room spinning around him while he pressed his free hand to his chest in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. 

"Ama—" He broke off, coughing with the taste of blood in his mouth. "'Mara!" 

"What's the hold-up?" Her voice echoed through the door before she appeared, her expression exasperated. "Zane? What are you…" She trailed off, her eyes widening in horror. "Zane!" 

He took a breath, fighting the urge to cough again as it caught in his throat. Swallowing hard, he gritted his teeth and reached up to grab the top edge of the crate, hauling himself to his feet. Running to him, Amara grabbed his hand and pulled his arm around her shoulders, practically carrying him as the two of them staggered towards the door. 

She glanced around, one hand still on her gun. "Are they—" 

He shook his head. "Got 'em," he muttered, his head swimming as pain burned through his chest like fire. He wondered absently whether the bullet had struck anything particularly vital. It was hard to tell but he suspected he was going to have trouble breathing fairly soon. It wasn't his first time getting shot in the lung but last time he'd been somewhere with better access to medical treatment. His fingertips were starting to tingle and he wondered how long he'd be able to hold onto his gun. 

"Good, good," Amara murmured, her grip tightening on his arm as her other arm clamped around his waist. "Let's just find somewhere safe and I'll take a look at that wound." 

Zane hummed an affirmative noise and they made their way down the corridor, until they reached a door which led to what looked like a supply closet. Hustling him inside, Amara kicked the door shut and helped lower him to the floor. He dropped his rifle and leaned his back against a set of shelving, wincing as the edge of a shelf pressed against his shoulder blade—by the feel of it, the bullet had gone right through him from the back. That was a bit of a mixed blessing; digging out bullets was a painful, messy business but a through-and-through left him with two wounds to bleed out from. 

"Zane? Zane!" She clicked her fingers in front of his face and he blinked up at her. 

"Hmm?" 

"Got any meds left?" 

He frowned and dug a shaking hand into his numerous pockets, pulling out all manner of miscellaneous things: bits of wire, knives, cigarettes, bullets, scraps of paper, hip-flask of homemade Pandoran rye...

No meds. 

"Shit. I'm down to one." Amara ran a hand through her hair, her anger and panic plain to see. "Okay..." 

Getting out of his jacket was an ordeal that left Zane's hands trembling, his vision blurring with every agonising breath he took. It had been a while since he'd been in this much pain; he was clearly out of practice. Amara helped him through it, letting him lean on her as together they slowly pulled each arm out. Eventually she was able to pull it free and tossed it down beside him as he slumped back against the shelving. Moving quickly, she pulled his arm into her lap and shoved his shirt sleeve up above his elbow, popping the cap off the med hypo with her teeth. He looked away with a grimace as she jabbed the needle into a vein and held it in place until the vial was empty. It would slow the bleeding, maybe even heal some of the damage; would it be enough? 

"This is all my fault. Fuck!" Amara snarled, habit turning her anger into productivity as she ripped up some dust-sheets off a shelf behind him. They weren't ideal as makeshift bandages went but they'd be better than nothing. 

_Not your fault I let my guard down, darlin'._

Zane took a breath, intending to argue the point, but his words were lost in a series of choking coughs. The taste of blood flooded his mouth and he felt it trickling into his beard as he shuddered and gasped for air. It was like trying to breathe underwater, his lungs burning for air and unable to draw it. Black spots danced across his vision and he blinked hard as Amara spoke again, her words coming from a long way off.

"Shit! Stay with me, Zane! Eyes open. No, come on!" 

His eyes wouldn't focus properly. He blinked again but it was suddenly very hard to convince them to open again… 

_SMACK._

He blinked again, cheek stinging. "S'okay, I'm 'wake," he muttered, before she could hit him again. 

"Good. Keep it that way." She looked him in the eye and he saw a look of worry on her face that he'd never seen before. He really was in a bad way, wasn't he? "I need to clean the wounds and stop the bleeding," she continued in a matter-of-fact tone he'd learned to fear. It usually meant she was about to do something he wouldn't like very much. 

Looking down at her hands, he saw she was holding a wad of folded material and the hip-flask. 

_Oh, hell…_

"This is going to hurt, Zane, but we have to be quiet. If reinforcements show up now, we're fucked." 

He met her eyes again and nodded, raising a shaking hand to take the folded cloth from her. The eye-watering smell of homemade whiskey wafted out as she twisted the top off the flask. "Here." She held it to his lips and he drank three good swallows, grimacing as it burned its way down his throat. It was a miracle that he didn’t start coughing again but somehow— _thank feck for small mercies_ —he managed it. 

He met her eyes and slid the folded cloth between his teeth before he turned his head away, closing his eyes as he braced himself. 

* * *

Amara set the almost-empty flask down beside her, along with the rest of the unneeded fabric scraps, and watched as Zane's eyes flickered open. He spat out the wad of fabric—now dark with blood—and looked at her. His eyes weren't fully focused, dulled by alcohol and pain. 

"Hey," she murmured. "Still with me?" 

"Mmm hmm," he hummed affirmatively, taking a breath and wincing. It seemed a little easier for him to breathe now and Amara allowed herself to hope that the worst of the internal damage might have been mended by the meds she'd given him. He was still bleeding, though. She grimaced at the dark smudges appearing on the layers of fabric she'd wrapped around his chest over his shirt. 

She heaved a sigh and pushed herself up onto her knees. "I should go and find the others. They may have some supplies left. If we're _very_ lucky, there'll be a travel point nearby." 

Zane reached down to the sleeve of his jacket lying beside him and unclipped the device that held Zoomer's digistructor. "Here… Just in case, eh?" 

She smiled and took it. "Thanks. How's the pain?" 

The corner of his mouth lifted in a small smile. "Had worse… Could be better…" he murmured, reaching a hand out weakly towards the flask. 

Amara shook her head. "No more, it'll thin your blood. You're bleeding enough as it is." 

He tried to reach for it again but missed, and she slid it further away with a smirk.

Zane scowled. "Some nurse you are…denyin' your patient what he needs!"

She raised her eyebrows. "Do I look like a nurse to you?" 

"Fair point," he said, nodding slowly. "Ought'a be wearin' one o' them…cute little hats."

"What?" She laughed out loud at that. "Zane, you'd better not be thinking about—" 

"You in a...sexy white pinafore?" He gave her a lazy smile, eyes still not quite focused as he looked her up and down. "Wouldn't dream of it." Then he blinked and frowned slightly. "No, that's a lie. I would." 

Amara rolled her eyes. "Well, keep dreaming, _boyo_. Because that's the closest you'll ever get." 

Despite her exasperation, she still found herself smiling. When had Zane's persistent flirting shifted from irritating to endearing? She wasn't sure, but there was something about his blunt honesty that was oddly charming. Still, she'd much rather explore this interesting new facet of their friendship when they were somewhere safe and he wasn't half-drunk and suffering from blood loss. 

“Don’t have too much fun without me,” he murmured with a smile as she reloaded her guns and got to her feet. She cast one more worried look at him before heading for the door, but hesitated with her hand on the handle. She was more than a little worried by how pale he was (he’d lost a _lot_ of blood) but without more supplies there was nothing more she could do for him. Still, she couldn't help but think: what if she came back and found him—

“Go on. I’ll be fine, darlin’.” He flashed her a brief grin and tipped his head towards the door. “Give ‘em hell an' come back safe, yeah?” 

He was right. Besides, he was a born survivor and the stubbornest man she'd ever met. If anyone could survive such an injury against the odds through sheer pigheadedness, it would be Zane “Lucky” Flynt. 

* * *

It was impossible to track the passage of time in here, but he reckoned it had been half an hour or so since Amara had left. He’d bled a bit through the makeshift bandages but it seemed to have stopped for now and his injured lung was working almost normally. 

_Reasons to be cheerful, eh boyo?_

He drew a breath and grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut. _Eh,_ _might'a spoken a bit too soon there._

The whiskey had helped dull the pain of the wounds being cleaned but now it was back with a vengeance. Without Amara nearby as a pleasant distraction, it was all he could think about. 

Opening his eyes, he blinked at the flask of whiskey, still a quarter full and lying only a few feet away. He reached for it but found to his frustration that she'd moved it far enough that he'd have to lean his whole upper body forward to reach it. An experimental fidget put paid to that idea pretty quickly, leaving him pale with his breath coming in short, sharp pants. If he leaned too far, he'd undo what little healing his wounds had managed to achieve. He scowled at the flask. It was less than a foot out of arm's reach but it might as well be on Elpis for all the good it would do him. 

He blinked. The room spun slowly around him and he felt a sudden wave of vertigo, forcing his eyes closed for a moment. Now that he was alone, with nothing to hold his attention, the exhaustion and dizziness were overwhelming. 

_Don't you pass out, Zane. Don't you dare!_

But it was as if the strength had been drained out of him along with the blood he'd lost. His eyelids felt like lead weights all of a sudden, his limbs heavy and useless. 

He blinked. The world had tilted sideways. No; he'd fallen sideways onto the floor. 

_How long was I out?_

Frowning, he tried to push himself back up but his arms weren't listening to him. _Come on, get up!_

Pain radiated from his chest and back as he forced his protesting muscles to work. By the time he’d finally hauled himself back to something resembling upright, he was shaking and feeling more weak and pathetic than he’d ever care to admit. Slumping back against the shelves, he narrowed his eyes at the door and considered his options. There was no way he'd be able to lift his rifle; the revolver would have to do. It probably wouldn't save him if it came to a real fight, but at least he'd die with a gun in his hand. 

_Assumin' you don't just bleed out first, eh Zane boy?_

He gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on the gun, his other hand curling around the trigger for his digital clone. He'd been in worse situations than this, but that didn't mean he was immortal. Every stabbing, shooting or poisoning, he’d wondered if it would be his last. This was no exception. 

A sound outside the room caught the edges of his hearing and he jabbed the button, the blue-outlined digi-clone flickering to life with an identical revolver in its hand. "Alright, ye handsome devil. Gonna need a hand here." 

As expected, there was no response from the clone apart from its usual static buzz, but Zane was already ignoring it in favour of listening to the footsteps approaching beyond the door. They paused outside and he waited, finger tensing on the trigger. 

The handle turned. He took a sharp breath and fired a warning shot at the metal handle, sending up a shower of sparks. “Come any feckin’ closer an’ I’ll—”

_"Shit, Zane! It's us!"_

Zane let out a sharp sigh of relief. "Thank _feck_ for that." 

He dropped the gun and the clone lowered its weapon as well, though it didn't stand down from the door. As a result, when the door opened, Amara startled and grabbed for her own gun at the shock of coming face to face with the blue hologram. 

"Shite, that never gets old!" Zane chuckled, then regretted it as it started another round of painful coughs. 

"That's what you get." Amara shook her head, but she couldn't keep a relieved smile from her face as she gave him a hand getting upright. "Glad you’re still with us, old man." 

"Less o' the _old_ , thank you," he groused, but gratefully took her arm and let her pull him to his feet. His legs shook and he would have fallen if Amara hadn't slung his arm around her shoulders. 

"FL4K, can you—" 

"Of course." 

Between them, the Siren and the robot half-helped, half-carried their injured companion out into the hallway, while FL4K's pet jabber gathered up his belongings. Zane winced as all the things he'd emptied from his pockets were unceremoniously shoved into whichever pocket the jabber saw fit. 

_There was a system… Ugh, never mind._

Moze was waiting outside, her rifle leaning casually against her shoulder. "Travel point's not far. Let's go home." 

* * *

Digistruct travel was by far the fastest way to get around. It was not, however, the most comfortable, especially with a bleeding hole through your chest. Zane cursed as the four of them rematerialised on Sanctuary III, staggering and almost falling if it weren't for the fast reflexes of his teammates. 

"Come on, let's get you to Tannis." Amara reclaimed her grip on his arm and smiled encouragingly, though the expression faltered at the look on his face. "What?" 

"Don't need to see Tannis," he mumbled. "I can manage."

"Don't be daft. Come on." She tugged at his arm in an attempt to get him moving but he wouldn't budge. 

"I'm not going. She’s creepy."

Amara rolled her eyes. "You’re going!" 

"The woman's a sadist!" he protested. "You don't know what she—" 

"Zane. You're going to see Tannis."

"No." He wanted to fold his arms but it hurt too much, so he settled for a glare. "I can look after meself."

Unfortunately, his glares had nothing on those of the legendary Tiger of Partali. It didn't help that his eyes still wouldn't quite focus so instead of the piercing scowl he was going for, he was instead glaring at a point slightly to the left of her face. She swivelled them both so that his back was against the wall and let go of his arm, still glaring as he fell back against it with a pained yelp. 

"What was that for?" 

Amara folded her arms and levelled her best stare at him. "I don't care if she sticks you full of needles as long as it keeps you alive. You're going." 

He scowled silently at her. 

"Do I have to carry you there? Honestly, you're such a baby sometimes."

He bristled. "Am not."

Moze smirked. "Big bad Flynt, afraid of a couple of needles and bandaids? Awwh." 

"Go feck yerself." 

"You are being remarkably stubborn, even for a human," FL4K chimed in, their tone even more deadpan than usual. 

"Oh, don't you start!" 

Amara glanced at the others. "Go ahead and check in with Lilith. I'll deal with this idiot."

"Sure thing." Moze caught Amara's eye and waggled her eyebrows in a way that made the Siren's cheeks turn ever-so-slightly pink. 

_Huh._

But before Zane could process that interesting tidbit of information, Amara had grabbed his arm again and was practically frogmarching him toward the stairs. "So why are you so afraid of Tannis?" she asked as she helped him up the steps. Despite the bravado, there was pain in every line of his face, every sharp intake of breath. 

He supposed there was no avoiding it after that little scene. At least he had a smaller audience now. "She— _shite!_ She wanted to…"study" me. See if there's some…genetic shite with the…famous Flynt insanity." 

Amara blanched. "She what?" 

"Told you, she's...a feckin' nutjob!" He paused on a step and gripped her arm harder, trying to catch his breath. "She even asked…if she could try…clonin' me to see if—" He broke off, coughing, and Amara decided she'd heard enough. 

"Alright, no more talking for you. I won't leave you alone in there." She squeezed his arm reassuringly. "One Zane Flynt is more than enough for this universe." 

He raised his hand slightly, waving the device that summoned his digi-clone, but she just smiled. "He doesn't count. He doesn't cause trouble like you do."

* * *

**_A few days later_ **

Zane tapped idly at his laptop’s keyboard. After almost a week confined to quarters on a mind-numbing cocktail of painkillers, he finally felt up to a little work. Since he still wasn’t allowed to join the team on any real jobs for another two weeks—Lilith’s orders—he was determined to help from behind the scenes instead with a bit of hacking and surveillance. 

As it had turned out, although the bullet had gone clean through Zane's body, it had caught the edge of his shoulder blade on the way through and several shards of bone had gone where they shouldn't—including a couple that had got very close to his heart. He refused to admit that Amara had been right, but still didn’t want to think too hard about what might have happened if she hadn’t insisted he get proper treatment. To her credit, she’d managed to refrain from saying “I told you so”, especially when she saw his expression at Tannis using the word “surgery” with a needle already poised in her hand. 

Despite Amara’s promise, he hadn’t actually expected her to stay with him. It was a pleasant surprise to wake up with a shrapnel-free chest, a gorgeous Siren sitting by his bed, and his brain still firmly within his skull and not floating in a jar in Tannis’s lab. 

Alright, he’d admit the last was pretty unlikely but he still didn’t trust the socially-inept doctor as far as he could throw her. 

He drew a deep breath, grimacing as his chest ached, but grateful to be able to breathe without coughing for the first time in days. His hand reached out of habit toward the pocket where he kept his smokes, then withdrew as he remembered Amara had confiscated them. 

_Dammit._

He scowled, settling for another swallow of beer instead as he went back to his work. Maybe he could nick them back tomorrow when the team went back out for their next mission. _Shouldn’t be too hard to hack her door code..._

"Zane."

_Speak of the Siren._

He looked up, fingers stilling on the keys as a smile crossed his face. "Amara. To what do I owe the pleasure?" 

She took the implied offer of welcome and stepped into his room, briefly looking around with interest. It occurred to him that she'd never been inside his private quarters before, since he didn't usually entertain and tended to leave it locked up tight while out on the job. Lucky for him that he tended to keep the place fairly tidy. 

"I owe you an apology," she said, perching on an uncluttered edge of his workbench. 

_Eh?_ His smile faded, replaced by a look of confusion. "What for?" 

Amara raised her eyebrows and looked him up and down, her eyes lingering on the edge of the bandages peeking just above his shirt collar. "Oh, I don't know. How about the reason you're stuck here for the next two weeks, having to check in with Tannis every other day?" 

Zane just looked at her, his confusion still apparent on his face. "You saved my life, Amara. Why the hell are you apologisin'? I should be _thankin'_ you."

She shook her head stubbornly. "It's my fault you were injured. If I hadn't dropped my guard—" 

"Darlin', if I spent half as much time watching my six as I did watching your arse, none o' this would'a happened." He shook his head. "Don't you go blamin' yerself for my mistakes."

Amara's mouth opened but before she could speak, she seemed to change her mind and closed it again. Her expression hovered somewhere between exasperation and amusement; an expression she seemed to wear fairly often around him, he'd noticed. 

"Tell ya what," he said, his smile returning. "If you _really_ wanna make it up to me…" 

Her eyes narrowed. "Zane, you'd better not be suggesting—" 

"What? No! Nothin' like that, I swear!" He held up his hands in mock surrender and grinned. "I was gonna say, you could let me buy you that drink you've been sayin' no to since we met." 

The threat went out of her expression and she raised an eyebrow appraisingly. "...Alright. Moxxi's, eight o'clock." 

"Sounds great." His grin widened. From the way she rolled her eyes as she hopped off the worktable, he suspected he looked rather like the cat that caught the canary. 

She glanced over her shoulder as she headed for the door. "Don't be late."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he called back just as the door closed behind her. Glancing at the clock, he chuckled and went back to his typing, his grin staying firmly in place. 

_Still got it._


End file.
